Sharp Claw
by VolcanicPizza
Summary: Peter Sharp has been preparing for the zombie apocalypse his whole life. Now, it's come, but is he really ready, or is he going to die? Will he conquer the zombies, or hide on an isolated island for the end of days? SPOILER ALERT: He doesn't exactly know himself. In fact, he doesn't even know why he's here. Rated T for swearing, violence, and because it's zombies. (Discontinued)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, everyone! For those of you who haven't read my fanfictions yet, welcome to my world, and to those of you who have, hello again! I haven't been active for a some time (gasp, six days) but whatever.**

 **Enjoy!**

I glared out at the vast, watery expanses. Typical of my luck, I thought sourly as I stared out at the sea.

Picking up a pebble, I threw it as far away as I could, where it landed with a pitiful splash. This only incensed my temper, and I chucked more and more rocks until, fury quenched, I sat down on a rock.

Dad had gotten a better job offer. We'd moved to California. Simple as that.

And I hated every part of what had happened.

I'd been forced to leave behind not only all my friends in Ohio but also my carefully crafted plans to survive the zombie apocalypse. _All for nothing..._

 _Well, I'll just have to remake the survival plans it took me TWO YEARS to make here in Pervert Beach, California. No shit, Peter, it won't be that easy._

I doubted I'd make many friends in Pebble Beach, especially since I'd taken to calling it Pervert Beach after I'd witnessed three boys in a row walking into the girls' bathroom. That had not earned me many friends, and people avoided me now, ignoring the fact that it was true.

And I couldn't do anything about it.

Worst yet, I was gradually coming to accept that maybe, just maybe, zombies wouldn't attack after all...

 _No. Don't think like that, Peter, or you'll never survive if they come._

If _they come._ There I was, doing it again.

I pictured the silvery sword in my room. I'd ordered it for three hundred dollars from . Its official name was the Zakasushi, which was apparently Japanese for 'fuck you,' although I'd looked it up on Google Translate and it was actually nonsense. I cared about as much about that as I had that you had to be eighteen or older to order a blade. If they'd found out and tried to take me, I would've told them what they apparently thought the translation of their blade's name was and gone on the run.

Crazy sixteen-year-old with a sword. Eek, help, save us all.

It had been a bugger to get it over here and not get found out, and I had almost been caught once: at the gas station when the gas guy saw it through the window, a shimmer of steel glittering from under where I'd hid it.

But apparently he decided it was none of his business and went back to filling up the tank.

Now, though, I had to admit our house in Pervert Beach was a little better than at home. I'd already fortified my room as necessary, and was pleased that I both had a ladder to my room instead of stairs and my own private bathroom. My parents assumed I had it for the private bathroom (my older brother Alex, the nardmango, tended to hog the shower in Ohio) but in actuality I'd done it for zombie-proofing reasons. The ladder could be removed and hidden, stopping zombies from getting up, the bathtub I could fill for water, it had an arched window with an aesthetic flourish on the windowsill that happened to be perfect for resting a gun on, and the previous owners had left a footlocker in the closet, where I hid the sword, my zombie research tools, and my knives and other survival equipment. I'd bought an $3 lock for it, which I'd set on the unintelligible password of "GNXB." My parents would never find it, and Alex was not only a nardmango but also had dried cantaloupe for brains.

My zombie obsession had started when I was ten. At the school book fair, I'd seen a copy of the _Zombie Survival Guide_ by Max Brooks and been curious. Something told me my parents wouldn't want me to own that book, so I burned the receipt and hid the book under a loose floorboard. I'd studied it and began to change my habits, slowly but subtly. Now, I never drank soda, only ate products with processed sugar when my parents insisted I eat some, and had a daily, vigorous exercise routine. I hated the exercising at first but over time it became habit, as part of me as my eyes and hands were. If zombies never came, at least I'd still be fit as an adult.

But it looked like zombies would never come. Sighing, I narrowed my eyes at the sinking sun as it tinged my face blood-red.

 **A/N: Aw, I feel so bad for him! Peter is (sort of) based on me, although I'm not as OCD about the apocalypse as he is.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I have not updated this in FOREVER, I know.**

 **PizaSmokesWeed: I just knew someone would say that.**

 **Setari: ":"? Oh... I'm guessing that's a :| face? I don't know, I'm not up to date with emojis (did I spell that right? Probably not.)**

 **Starkiller: Great! It's awesome to know that someone else is aware that exists.**

 **For those of you who haven't, check out my other fanfictions. If you've read Smokepaw's Quest, please be aware that I have a poll about it on my page.**

 **Okay, enough waffling on about that stuff. Back to the story!**

"Hey, you there."

I refused to turn, rather gripping the sides of my backpack tighter.

"Yeah, you. Loser."

I wished desperately that he'd leave me alone. So what if my obsession with the zombie apocalypse ran far beyond the normal teenager's dreams? It would happen some day, I knew it.

These bullies had been relentless. Always relentless.

"Mr. Zombie. You. Get your ass over here."

Finally, I turned, staring into icy, unforgiving blue eyes. "I'm not scared of you." I said quietly.

He chuckled. "You should be."

I flipped him the bird and continued down the hallway. Twelve seconds later, as he dragged me into the bathroom, I knew I'd made a big mistake.

"It's swirlie time!" Glee emanated from his voice as I was dragged before the ceramic god.

"No." I grunted. I felt for my backpack and swung it backwards towards his face. It brushed his nose, and his eyes went wide. "Oh, you're a fighter, Mr. Zombie? Let's see you fight."

As he had dragged me towards the toilet, a gathering of students had grouped around us. Now a swelling chant rose, one I'd heard before but only been a spectator to.

"Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight, fight, fight..."

The bully swung a fist at me. I ducked under it and using my fist as I would the Zakasushi I'd trained with for hours, drove it into his stomach. He doubled over, winded, and kicked me in the face. Blood poured from my nose, but I ignored it. I knew I lacked the size and strength to fend off this gorilla, and so grabbed two items from my open backpack: a heavy textbook and a pair of scissors.

"Cheater!" cried the bully, and made a move towards the textbook, but I dropped it on his foot and then drove the scissors blade into his hand. I was only looking to bruise and humiliate, not severely injure. Only zombies deserved death.

Well, death beyond undeath.

He launched his foot at my face again, but I parried with the textbook and deftly snipped his laces. Striking at the shoe, it fell off. I picked it up and hurled it at his face.

Blood was everywhere, and I was in the thick of the fight. I drove the scissors into his arm and, pinning my foe against the bathroom wall, put the textbook against his throat. "Surrender?" I asked.

The bully coughed and choked up blood. "Yes..." he gurgled through the curtain of blood.

For a moment there was silence, then a rising cheer. Someone clapped me on the back. "Dude, you're the only person who's ever stood up to Colin before!"

I wanted to bask in the newly found glory, but there wasn't time. There was only three minutes to homeroom, and I didn't intend to be late.

I stood, gathered my things, and whisked from the room like a dark wind.

Outside the bathroom, I had only made it a few steps when I was stopped by a group of kids: two boys and two girls.

"Who are you?" I asked.

One boy briefly cracked a smile. "Name's Jake. These are Alex, Riley, and Sophia."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"We've been the only kids prepared for a zombie apocalypse until you came along." Riley responded. "Fact is, we'd like you to join us."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, I don't think I've updated since, what, January? Or was it 2015? Uh... (glances around awkwardly)**

 **Anyway, I'm planning for the story to end after about 14 or 15 chapters, so it shouldn't be that long and it'll only cover the first few months. I'll be glad to expand past that if you guys want me to, but I think I'll keep it at my planned length.**

 **Shadowman: Thanks.**

 **PizaSmokesWeed: I wasn't aware of that... is there anything I can do to help?**

"And why should I believe you?" I asked. "Chances are you'll be dead weight."

Jake snorted. "Not likely. I've been training since I was twelve. Alex and Sophia's parents take them hunting all the time, and they've been training since they were fourteen. Riley's been training since thirteen, and we've coordinated our plans since we first met."

"Then how and why do you want me to fit into your plans?" I snapped. _I'm a lone wolf,_ I thought. _I can't have these kids who think they know about zombies dragging me down._

"The fact is..." Alex looked uneasy. "We'd heard that you're supposed to have things planned for a zombie apocalypse, so we, uh, we, er..."

"We set Colin on you to see how you'd react." Riley said bluntly.

"Now hear us out," Jake said, raising his arms as I clenched my fists, "it was completely just to see what you'd do, if you'd be able to handle yourself... and you performed perfectly. You barely panicked and had everything figured out. You improvised weapons from around you, kept cool under pressure, and didn't get caught. Plus," he allowed himself to crack a smile, "I've always wanted to see Colin get creamed." He raised his hand. "You in?"

"What you did was absolutely ruthless," I said in a cold voice not quite my own, "and took no regard for the fact that I might be having trouble adjusting to a new home." Then I grinned. "And zombies will be completely ruthless, and they'll take no regard for my troubles." I stepped forwards and shook his hand. "I'm in. What's next?"

Alex grinned, running a hand over his shaved head. "We cut class to bring you back to our base and see what you've got."

"I've never cut class before..." I began hesitantly.

"Well, there's a first time for everything." Sophia giggled.

.

At their base, an abandoned gas station at the corner of town, I realized that these kids really _did_ have everything. Granted, most of it was illegal, but it was still neat seeing the guns and ammo stacked neatly, the knives resting in sheaths hanging on the walls, and the crossbow on the desk counter. The windows were boarded over with steel bars, and the door looked like it could withstand a nuclear blast.

"How'd you get all the money for this?" I asked, agape.

"Well, we all mow everyone's lawn over the summer and clean windows and stuff." Jake said. "As for the guns, let's just say that last year the proprietor of The Pro Shop gun store walked into his business to find it mysteriously burgled."

My emotions changed quickly. "You stole guns?" I shouted. "Granted, I'm underage to order my sword, but I paid for it!"

"We did, too." Alex assured. "We left the poor guy a set of instructions on exactly what he should do to survive the zombie apocalypse. It was the least we could do."

"Were they good or bad plans?" I asked.

"Good." responded Riley.

"Then it's fair pay."

.

I spent the next hour getting grilled by Jake on my zombie knowledge, having Alex and Riley test my skills with weapons, and being interrogated by Sophia on my survival plans. I must have passed, otherwise Jake wouldn't have been grinning as he sent me home.

Unfortunately, my parents were not grinning when I opened the door. In fact, they didn't have the thinnest trace of a smile on their faces.

"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

At first I thought they were mad I'd played hooky, but then my father said hoarsely, "Alex got hit by a car when he was walking home from school."

I was confused about why they were concerned about my new friend, then winced as I remembered my brother's name was Alex.

"He's in a coma, and... the doctors say he doesn't have long to live."

.

We drove to the hospital, which was a little outside Pervert Beach, and went in to see Alex. He looked so small and pale, lying on the bed with IV tubes stuck in him, and I was sorry for all the times I called him a nardmango.

I let my hands hang limply by my side as my eyes scanned his body, my knowledge of human anatomy categorizing his injuries asides from a coma as a dislocated shoulder and a broken leg. I was almost surprised that he hadn't suffered more injuries.

Besides Alex in the hospital ward lay another man who seemed to be comatose. When the doctor saw me looking at him, he explained, "He got brought in about three hours ago- his family said some maniac attacked him on the road."

At first I shrugged it off, then froze. "A maniac attacked him on the road?"

"Yes..." the doctor replied hesitantly.

"How so?"

"Well, our tests make it appear that he had no weapons. The attacker used only his teeth and nails, it seems."

After all the time I'd been waiting for this to happen, now it maybe was, and my brain was freaking out, silently denying it. "H-h-how long has he been in this coma?" I asked.

"About two hours." The doctor was clearly very puzzled by my inquiries. "Why are you so interested?"

I remembered from my book a single factoid about Solanum: _After about two hours in a coma comes reanimation._

I snapped. "We need to get out!" I screamed.

"Peter, what's the matter?" My mother was clearly confused. "Why do we need to get out?"

The man rose from his bed and opened dead yellow eyes.

 **A/N: Doesn't everyone just love cliffhangers? Apparently not, from what I've seen. But that's where I'm ending it, because I'm evil!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So this was off on hiatus for a while, but I'm bringing it back. I can't do all my fics 24/7, though, so I'd like to know if anybody's interested in coauthoring this fic. If you are, PM me your submission for the next chapter (sorry, guest reviewers) and I'll pick the best one for somebody to coauthor this with and post it, then whoever wins can alternate between chapters.**

 **PINGAS: That's intentional, it's so that he'll never forget his brother.**

 **Rainford: You pretty much summed up the last chapter in one sentence.**

 **Joe Hilbourn: Yes, there is more to come.**

I screamed, throwing my body backwards and at the same time clutching for a weapon. _No no no no no no no no no no no no no_ my mind shrieked as I cast about for something to do.

 _This is all wrong! This is all wrong! This is the worst place I can be right now!_

I snatched for something and grabbed one of those rolling laptop tables that looks like a stool. I hefted it for a second, adjusting its weight in my hand, then pivoted on my heel. Screeching unintelligibly, I slammed it into the man's skull. Ignoring the impact and snarling, he whipped away from me and his teeth bit into Alex's foot.

Somebody was screaming in the red mist clouding my vision as the zombie chewed on my brother's foot. Somebody was slamming the table into the zombie's head over and over and over. Somebody was screeching like a demon as it slumped to the ground, head bashed in. Somebody was laughing hysterically as he crushed its head to smithereens beneath the table and kept going, as blood and brains and skull and everything else inside the head of the thing that had once been a man splattered over the floor.

And it wasn't until the mist left my vision and I slumped onto my butt on the bloody floor that I realized it had been me doing it all.

 _Am I going crazy?_

Blood poured from the bites on my brother's foot and my father's chest, and I realized I was too late.

* * *

The walls of my room were hard. I knew this because I'd been slamming my head into them for hours. What was I to fear? My doors were locked, my windows closed, the staircase destroyed. My gun was set up so I could shoot anything out the window.

Alex and my father were probably zombified, my mother probably dead too. Riley, Alex, Jake, and Sophia... I had no idea.

"Better than knowing they're dead." I muttered, inspecting the blood on the wall and feeling my throbbing cranium.

I didn't think I was going insane. But there is a difference between thinking something to be true and knowing it to be true.

My food supplies were running out, and the water I'd drained into the bathtub and sink upstairs had stopped and was also close to running out.

"Your choice, Peter." I punched my bed. "Die from starvation, die from zombies, die from suicide, die from old age. No matter what, you're going to die."

And yet... wasn't there...

Wasn't there something I was forgetting?

 _Wasn't there something I was forgetting?_

"I don't remember." I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I don't remember any of it."


End file.
